


Draw Me In

by kinkskeleton



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Good Guy Harrison Wells, M/M, Mute Barry Allen, Muteness, Soulmates, eobard doesn't exist, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkskeleton/pseuds/kinkskeleton
Summary: On Earth-1, anything your soulmate writes or draws on them-self ends up on you, too. Harrison Wells hasn't seen a mark of ink on his skin in thirty-six years, but long after he's given up hope of ever having a soulmate, a galaxy appears on his arm and begins a chain of events that will bring Barry Allen and him together.





	1. Space

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to begin by saying that I've never actually published any of my work here before, nor have I ever written for The Flash. That being said, I've always liked the chemistry between Harrison Wells/Harry and Barry Allen, and I felt that they would work good together even if their age would complicate things. I also thought it would be interesting to take a look at how the original HW would act and think in the events of the show, which was partially why I started this. At the start of the story, Harry is thirty-six, and Barry is sixteen. Nothing will happen between them until Barry is of legal age.
> 
> Don't be afraid to tell me if I make any mistakes!

Harrison Wells was not a very affectionate man. He hadn’t been since his wife, Tess, had died. This did not stop him from taking on protoges and teaching them everything he knew about science. It did, however, stop him from having relationships beyond those tentative mentor-student connections he created with the people who worked for him. Nobody could really blame him for keeping distance between himself and others, but that didn’t stop his workers and almost-maybe-friends from worrying. The fact that not a word had appeared on his body since he had been alive did not help warm him up to the idea of an intimate relationship.  


When he had been younger he had waited with bated breath and hoped to one day look down at his arm and see a random word, drawing, line or anything to prove that he had someone out there meant for him. He had slowly lost that hope over time, and even though he was so desperately in love with Tess (who had a platonic soulmate,) the pain of not having a soulmate weighed on his shoulders. It had gotten worse when she had died. He had felt completely alone in the world, and he was vaguely aware that he had shut almost everyone out after that horrifying day. He stopped himself from writing on his arms at all costs. This stiff detachment lead to a greater focus in his work, however, and he dived into his research for the particle accelerator with a new determination. His work within S.T.A.R labs was sometimes the only thing that kept him sane.  
He may have been frigid and lonely, but at least he had his work to distract him. 

Distract him it did, until the day they finally appeared on his arm. So seemingly innocent, world-changing as they were. The small planets and stars drawn on his arm with an artist’s hand and eye for detail. If it hadn’t been so hot in the lab, hot enough to make him roll up the sleeves of his black shirt, he wouldn’t have noticed them at all. But he did, and the sight of them sent the wrench he was holding clattering to the table, along with the object he had been trying to fix. A piece of tech that had seemed so important before, but now held not even a passing thought in his mind.  


He stared wordlessly at them for a moment, blinking his eyes furiously and wondering if he had gotten heat stroke and started to hallucinate. The drawing stayed, innocently scrawled across his skin like splattered hopes and dreams. His shock and confusion slowly turned to hesitant elation. He had a soulmate. _He had a soulmate._ One who was both artistically inclined and interested in astrology, if the detailed little galaxy spanning across his arm had anything to say about it. One who was probably young enough to be his son, the realization crossed his mind. Though it should have rightly caused his elation to turn sour, he couldn’t find it in him to care, because _finally_ he wasn’t alone. He sat there, admiring the artwork penned onto his skin, for what seemed simultaneously like forever and no time at all. All the while happiness continued to bloom in his chest like a flower he had long thought was dead.  


“Woah, Dr.Wells. I didn’t know you could draw like that!” He was shocked out of his reverent gaze by the scandalized voice of one of his assistants; Cisco Ramon. He quickly pulled his sleeve back down over the artwork as he spun around in his chair to face the younger man. Before he could bring himself to say anything, the dark haired man finger gunned at him, “Nice. So, what’s got you so happy this morning, Dr.Freeze?” Harrison shook himself slightly and turned back around, picking up the wrench he had abandoned so hastily earlier.  


“Nothing, Ramon. Just this-” he punctuated his remark by tossing the finished object at the other man, who hastily dropped his bag to catch it. It took him a moment of staring to take in the object and realize what it was. He looked up, surprised and practically beaming.  


“No. Way.” He clicked it open, and a buzzing noise filled the room. “You did not build a Sonic Screwdriver,” he pointed the offending object at Harrison as he spoke, startling when a slightly mechanic, masculine British voice spoke up.  


“Scanning....Human detected. Signs of exhaustion and overheating prevalent. Unarmed. No threat detected.” Cisco stared at the object for a moment, letting go of the button keeping it open and dropping his arm as the screwdriver's top folded back in on itself. Harrison smirked as the man started rambling about cosplay and conventions, before declaring that the invention was ‘Totally awesome!’ and that Harry should please let him have it.  


“It was for you, anyway. Use it responsibly, Ramon.” The boy grinned and thanked him before wandering over to his desk to finish the paperwork he had originally come to do, as per Wells' instruction. Distractions gone, he rolled up his sleeves again and stared at his arm for a short moment. He contemplated his actions for a brief moment before finally picking up a blue pen he had set off to the side of some of the papers on his desk. His focus was entirely on the doodle he was adding to the drawing. He set down the pen before picking up a sharpie in a darker blue and adding an outline to the police box he had drawn. It was positioned near the Earth, and it stood out from the rest of the drawing starkly with its cartoonish quality. Capping the sharpie, he let himself sit back to marvel once more at his soulmate’s drawing, before getting back to work. There was plenty things to be done if he wanted to finish his blueprint for the accelerator any time soon, and he couldn’t completely slack off. He had a job to do, even if he was half-distracted by the pounding of his heart and the thought of his soulmate for the majority of the time he spent doing said job.  


It had been around five hours of fixing the design and jotting down notes before he was distracted from reading over the latest report on clean energy by a tingling running down his arm. It felt almost electrifying, though he knew that wasn't the case. He set the report aside and turned his attention towards his arm, which was still uncovered due to his hope of catching his soulmate's response quickly. Next to the drawing of the galaxy was a smiley face and the words (handwriting slightly sloppy but deliberate) _“I’m practically swooning already. Doctor Who? You definitely know the way to a boy’s heart.”_ He let out a small chuckle of laughter as he read the words. He was glad his soulmate seemed to be as impudent as he, himself, had been accused on occasion.  


He was quick to pick up his pen and write his response below the words.  


**“I try. British television is a staple in any worthwhile relationship.”**  
His soulmate was quick to respond. Words scrawled out below his in a flash.  


_“I think we're gonna get along, then.”_ There was a simple doodle of a deerstalker and fez next to the words. Harrison grinned slightly at the small objects and chuckled quietly. Despite all his worries, he was sure the words were true. Even if his soulmate turned out to be half his age, he would deal with it. He would deal with anything to keep this refreshingly warm feeling in his chest. And so he responded to the sentence truthfully.  


**“I’m inclined to agree.”**  
Harrison Wells was not a very affectionate man, but he could definitely learn to be. If only for his soulmate.


	2. Hush Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry knows how Joe feels about soulmates, but as far as he's concerned, Joe doesn't know what he's talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few adjustments to the story to fit better with Joe's character, because I realized that this chapter made him out to be far too different than how he is in canon.

Barry pushed the front door open, noting the creaky hinges as he walked through the entryway and shut it behind him. They really had to take better care of the house. He dropped his backpack onto the couch, sighing as it tumbled off the edge and onto the floor. Shaking his head, he decided he would pick it up later. The last vestages of day light shone through the windows, shining across the wooden floor. The shadow of a bird flew across the amber planks. It would look good as a watercolor painting, he thought. Turning on his heel, he made his way up the stairs. Passing the framed family pictures on the wall, he quickly shuffled into his room and crouched down to search through one of the wooden crates on his floor. After a few moments he pulled out a blank canvas and stood back up, shifting to hold it under his arm as he made his way over to his desk and picked up his most lovingly used watercolor case, along with a few different types of brushes. Satisfied with his gathered supplies, he left his room and didn't bother shutting his door before he hurried down the stairs, two steps at a time. Noise from the kitchen caught his attention as he finally came to a stop by the couch. Resolving to come back after he talked to Joe, he set his painting supplies down on the couch, next to his backpack.  


"Barry, 's that you?" Joe's voice came from the kitchen. As he meandered towards the room, a wave of calm washed over him as he heard it buzz pleasantly with the sound of the washer and dryer running. "Stupid question," he answered himself, voice clearer, now that Barry was in the same room. Joe waved at him slightly. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, both slightly worn. He mustn't of had work that day, then, Barry guessed at his casual appearance. He walked towards the side of the room where the setting sun filtered light through the window, and slipped onto the dining table. He grinned slightly, saluting the man with two fingers. Tapping his fingers idly on the wooden surface, he watched Joe pour steaming coffee into a mug he had pulled from one of the upper cabinets. "Did Iris go to work already?" Barry nodded, swinging his legs slightly.  


_"Right after school,"_ he signed. Joe nodded in acknowledgement, carrying his coffee over to the farthest end of the table, where he sat in the armed chair and picked up the newspaper lying there. He peered over it at Barry and took a sip of coffee, before setting the mug down.  


"So, how was school?" Barry's shoulders tensed slightly as he struggled to find a response. He couldn't tell Joe about visiting Iron Heights; he didn't want to have to deal with another lecture today. Barry knew how Joe felt about him talking to his dad. He had gotten in trouble more times than he could remember for running away to see him when he was younger. His silence must have lasted too long, because Joe was looking at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow and setting down the paper. "Earth to Barry. Where'd you go there?" Barry smiled and shook his head, hoping to reassure the man.  


_"School was school. Chemistry was fun."_ He hope talking about Chemistry would distract Joe, but the man was determined if nothing else.  
"You sure that's all that happened, Baer?" He looked like he was torn between being disapproving and concerned. Barry nodded, shrugging lightly. Joe usually didn't doubt him like this. He put his thumb to his chest, fingers wide open, and tilted it towards Joe in the sign for "fine." He hopped off the table and brushed non-existent dust off his sweater.  


_"I'm going to paint."_ He shook his hands slightly and smiled at Joe, before walking back towards the kitchen entryway. As he passed Joe, the man's hand came to rest on his elbow. Barry felt the tension growing in his shoulders as he turned slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. His other hand raised, holding up the lanyard Barry had been given to allow him entrance to visit his dad. His eyes widened as he stared at the laminated pass. _Fuck._  


"Bartholomew Henry Allen. I hope you have an explanation as to why this was in your backpack." His voice was tense. Barry tried to pull his arm away, but the other man held fast onto his sleeve. He shrugged instead, turning his face away from his adoptive father. "Barry. You know how I feel about you visiting him. You _know_ what he did. It's unhealthy for you to continue talking to him. You're not going back. Understand?" Barry glared, hazel eyes fierce as his nerves turned into anger. Roughly, he pulled his arm away and stepped away from Joe.  


_"He's innocent! Even if you can't see it. You can't stop me from talking to him. I'm my own man. I can make my own decisions,"_ he signed jerkily, scowl in place. Joe stood up, slamming his hand onto the table, causing Barry to flinch lightly. Joe usually wasn't an angry man, so the teen was startled by his mannerisms.  


"God damn it, Barry! You can't keep holding onto these disillusions. There was no man in yellow. He was a figment of your immagination; a scary monster you made up so you didn't have to face the fact that your father was a murderer! Your father's fingerprints were all over that knife. You are _not_ going to see him again." Barry felt like yelling, but the only sound that came to his mouth was an angry strangled growl.  


_"Just because you don't want to face the truth doesn't mean you can take it out on me! You put an innocent man in jail and you don't want to live with it. You can't tell me what to do; you're not my father! You're the reason I don't have him!"_ Joe looked briefly hurt, before his anger took over and he slammed his fist against the table again, the skin against his knuckles taut at the force which he was using to form the fist.  


"That's it; you're grounded! Go to your room, young man." Barry bared his teeth and shook his head in refusal  


_"No."_ Backing away and turning around, he took off through the house and out of the front door. He didn't bother closing it behind him as he continued his flight, long legs shifting in long strides as his converse clad feet flew across the concrete of the road outside of their house. The dark sky was painted purple, semi-transparent stars dotted within, as dusk settled over their suburban neighborhood. He ran down the street, pushing himself to go faster as he ignored Joe's angry, frantic calls from the porch of the house. The world blurred around him as he ran, angry tears burning in his eyes. He let his mind lose itself in the feeling of running; the distant call of some powerful force, urging him to run faster and harder as the cool fall air nipped at his face and his legs burned with the intensity of it. By the time his muscles ached too much for him to continue running and he came back to himself, he realized he had no clue where he was. Though he knew Central pretty well, he didn't recognize the dark, grubby looking part of town he had run to. He looked around at the buildings which were washed in a cool blue light from the moonlight, a feeling of hopelessness pooling around his shoulders like a familiar blanket as he searched for anything somewhat recognizable. A building caught his eye, and he rubbed his sweater clad arms as he walked towards it, looking every which way. The buzzing neon sign, which washed over him in a blood red light, proclaimed the building as something called "Saints and Sinners." Better than nothing, Barry surmised as he pushed the door open, letting the warm air of the place envelop him as he stepped inside, like a sheep walking willingly into a pack of ravenous wolves.


End file.
